Oh my God, what shall I wear?

When my daughter informed me she was marrying in Spain, I thought, Wow, I have no castanets! But the real problem became what on earth would I wear? Traditional mother of the bride dresses tend to be, you know, ugly. Though I clocked in at 60 years, I wanted to look my youthful best.

The Frock

“I want a dress to surprise — a dress to dance the night away in — with a silver-templed Flamenco dancer,” I told my friend, Kathy.

Kathy said, “Cut the fantasies, girl, and start looking for shape wear. Even with your commendable weight loss for this wedding, you may want to cinch in a few pounds.”

Kathy and I had spent years fighting the bulge and I knew she was just trying to keep it real.

The next day, I tried on a shimmery blue, skin tight, sheath in Nordstrom’s wedding shop. I turned several times in front of the tri-fold dressing room mirror — you know, the kind that shows every ounce of flesh? The lighting turned everything green, including my tongue, which I stuck out at the mirror. I looked like a baby pachyderm.

I came into the hallway to see if I looked better in that mirror. The saleswoman looked me over with a semi-polite sneer said, “Perhaps a foundation garment would help.”

I looked up and down her bony frame, returned to the dressing room, and snapped the door shut.

The next week, I took Kathy along to help. In three hours, we had tried on nearly every dress in the mall. The flippy skirt. The twirly short dress. The swirly long dress. Slinky one-piece jumpsuit. (Ok, I admit, at that point, we had lost it.)

“You’ll find the right dress,” Kathy said, as we headed for the parking lot. “There’s a dress for you out there, somewhere.”

Thankfully, Kathy was right. The next week, I found it, in — do not gasp — Target. The Spanish proletariat would surely appreciate my economy, wouldn’t they? I asked myself. It was a simple black “stretchable” sheath, sleeveless with low v-neckline. What appeared to be, on the hanger, a dress I should never wear fit very nicely.

The Dancing Shoes

I knew I couldn’t dance all night without the right shoes. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to find wide shoes in a skinny shoe universe.

A red strappy pair, I thought.

I went to all the shoe shops in my area and tried dozens of pumps, sling backs and slides. Not one fit.

Finally, and not a day too soon, I found them at Macys. Red, sexy! A strap around the ankle.

“I always wanted a strap around my ankle,” I said to the air.

A young male store clerk watched me try them on and said, “Honey, you don’t want your pinky toe sticking out of those shoes.”

I looked down and indeed, my pinky toe was hanging out. I wanted to put my pinky toe in his eye because, at that point, I was desperate. Though the shoes fit snug, I bought them.

The next week I visited my trusty shoe repair man.

“Joe, find a way to make these shoes fit.” I said.

Joe said he would subject them to his super stretch machine.

“Don’t come back for five days though,” he told me. “That’s how long it’ll take for these babies to fit.”

The “Silhouette”

Kathy was right. I needed shape wear. For the right “silhouette,” as the fashion world calls it. I found a light-weight garment called a “total body wrap.” It claimed to suck in the hips, the rear, the thighs, and the stomach. The trick, of course, was to tuck them all in at once. Getting it on was akin to wrestling a bear. Getting it off was heaven. I wanted the “silhouette” it provided, so I bought it anyway.

As I was leaving the store, I spied a silver shawl with threads of red and pink woven through it. And a lovely red organza rose pin for the slightly over exposed cleavage. Perfect. I was so happy, I hugged the lady in front of me in the checkout line.

Later, I sent Kathy an email. “The wedding attire is complete!”

She wrote back, “I knew you could do it! Brava!”

Now, I thought, if I can walk, talk, breathe and pee through the long hours from the ceremony to the farewells, I will be the most successful mother of the bride ever.

— Kaye Curren

Kaye Curren writes humor and essays for various blogs and magazines and on her website at www.writethatthang.com. This piece is an excerpt from her upcoming book, A Wedding in Spain: A Mother’s Journey.

Erma says

“Do you know what depression is? It's sitting in your doctor's examination room. In a paper dress. On a cold table. And it's the high spot of your week.”
(from "Dumpy Paper Dress--March 31, 1977," which appears in Forever Erma)

Who's publishing what?

Musings

Kaye Curren has written her first book, Memories A La Carte, Essays on a Life. In these selected humorous and heartfelt essays, Ms. Curren relates what it’s been like to be a woman living, growing and surviving in America in the latter half of the twentieth century and beyond. From childhood in sunny California to retirement in snowy Michigan, Ms. Curren has survived depression, divorce, failed opportunities and financial insecurity — and has lived to laugh about them. She delights in writing humor essays, human interest stories and memoir. Find her many musings on her website/blog at http://www.writethatthang.com.

Perfect lipstick

Diane Pascoe has published a collection of hilarious personal essays, Life Isn’t Perfect, But My Lipstick Is: Real Life. Real Laughs. Her funny memoir “collects the mental musings of a wife, mother, and (sometimes) gracefully aging woman.” She lives in North Carolina with her husband, Eric (also known in these stories as “Honey” and “Love God”) and their two dogs.

Idaho potatoes

Bestselling author Elaine Ambrose offers two new children’s books featuring Idaho potatoes, creative stories, and vibrant illustrations. Gators & Taters features seven original stories with four in prose and three in metered rhyming poetry. The book is one of 50 children’s books selected for Bowker’s National Recommended Reading list. The Magic Potato is a creative, educational, bilingual story book that was approved by the Idaho State Board of Education for the statewide curriculum. The read-out-loud story describes in English and Spanish the adventures of children who ride around Idaho on a magic flying potato.